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Prisons sucked. Not that I had been in many ones (unless you count my own brain), but I didn’t need more experience to know I hated it.
Even worse, this was Preservation Station. I was supposed to be welcome here, especially after I had worked with Station Security on several occasions. I had an excellent record of saving Preservation humans, including Station Security members, and I was trying not to be too bothered by the fact they had locked me in one of their cells as soon as a judge had ordered it.
To be fair (and I don’t even know why I was trying to be, but I don’t always make sense to myself), Station Security didn’t seem especially happy to have me in one of their cells either. If I was interpreting Senior Officer Indah’s expression correctly, she wished I was anywhere but here.
I guess sometimes her job sucked too.
“Your lawyer is here,” she told me. Her voice sounded majorly pissed off, but I was 87% sure it wasn’t at me, so I didn’t let it annoy me even more than I already was.
I didn’t voice an answer, nor made any move showing that I had heard her. (I might have been aware that she had no responsibility in this whole situation, I wasn’t nice enough to acknowledge it by trying to communicate with her.) (Yes, I’m aware it’s unlikely to make things better for anyone involved.) (No, I don’t care.) Instead, I kept watching the opposite wall as if it was the most interesting thing in the room. (It wasn’t.) I still had my drones, because Mensah had managed to categorize them as a medical necessity because they were an essential part of the way I apprehended the world, or something like that. So it was easy for me to see the annoyed crease of her mouth. It was more subtle than the rings under her eyes, but my drones’ resolution was excellent.
Indah sighed heavily, as if I wasn’t able to notice her subtle signs of exasperation. “Look, I don’t want you here anymore than you want to be,” she said, not for the first time. “The sooner we’re done, the better. In the meantime, if there is anything you need, just let me know.”
There were several things I needed. For example, I needed everyone to know that I hadn’t attacked any Preservation adolescent human, no matter what four of them were saying. I had, however, done my best to look very intimidating when I had surprised them bothering another adolescent human. As a SecUnit, I was very good at looking intimidating, and they had fled immediately. The fifth adolescent human had blushed and thanked me before running away too. I had followed him with one of my drones to make sure he was meeting with his family unit safely.
And then, one hour later, I had received a feed message from Senior Officer Indah, asking me to come to Station Security. The details of the complaint made against me were attached. To keep it short, the four adolescent humans were accusing me of having hurt them. I hadn’t even touched them, but the pictures showed them sporting bruises and scratches that I was positive hadn’t been here before. They were likely self-inflicted. (It wouldn’t have been plausible to anybody even remotely familiar with SecUnits. We don’t do scratches and bruises. If we do touch you, either we won’t leave any damage or you’re seconds away of becoming a corpse. I think Indah was perfectly aware of it, even if I was the only SecUnit she knew.)
To make matters worse, one of my accusers was the nephew of a known journalist, and the story was all over the media. The judge in charge had decided that I had to be locked up while awaiting judgment, so here I was, fuming in a cell like I was one of the few Preservation humans that broke the law and not a perfectly law-abiding SecUnit. (I don’t often break Preservation law. We don’t talk about other systems.) It wasn’t like I couldn’t have broken free any time I wanted to, so the whole locking me up thing was ridiculous, but I had an idea it wouldn’t help my case to mention it to the judge.
“I didn’t do it,” I told the wall.
“I know.” Indah sighed even more heavily. (I was almost impressed. I don’t have enough air in my lungs to be able to make that sort of sound.)
Indah waited 5.6 seconds for an answer before leaving. I didn’t have to wait for long before she came back with Pin-Lee. (Pin-Lee is my lawyer, my legal counsel and someone the other humans find terrifying. I was counting on her to get me out of here.) Indah opened my cell to let Pin-Lee inside and locked it behind her. We all knew that I could hack the lock whenever I wanted to, but I guess she had to follow protocol.
Pin-Lee settled comfortably in one of the chairs available. She started talking as soon as Indah had left.
“Don’t you want to sit down?”
“No.”
There was a very comfortable-looking armchair right next to me, one that I was certain wasn’t part of usual cell furniture, which meant that someone at Station Security had brought it just for me. I appreciated the gesture, but I wanted to keep fuming and it was easier done when I was standing up.
Pin-Lee pinged me on our secure channel and I accepted the request.
Do you prefer talking in the feed? she asked.
I don’t care.
Pin-Lee grimaced. I don’t think Station Security is listening, but just in case, let’s do it that way. If you don’t mind.
I didn’t think Station Security was listening either. The company wouldn’t have hesitated (spying on people is how they make a living) but Preservation has privacy rules, including when talking to your lawyer.
If I had access to SecSystem, I would have been able to confirm it, but I had agreed not to do that.
In any case, I had nothing to hide. (At least nothing in my actions of the past four hours.)
Can you tell me what happened? Pin-Lee asked. She was clever enough not to ask a stupid question like ‘ How are you feeling?’, which I was grateful for.
I shared my recordings of the events with her. She was silent as she watched it, her expression becoming darker and darker.
We can’t use your recordings only, she said after a while. The accusation could say that you faked them. But you gave me plenty to work with.
She was taking notes in her working space. It was the feed equivalent of scribbling furiously, if furious scribbling could be done at an excruciating low pace. (I have much more processing power than humans and augmented humans.)
It won’t take long, she promised. We only need to wait until we can reach the person you helped. He has gone back to the planet with his family, but we’ve already sent for him.
What if he doesn’t want to testify? I couldn’t help asking. After all, I was a dangerous and untrustworthy SecUnit for many humans. (They tended to change their mind once I saved them from an external threat or their own stupidity.)
Then we’ll think of something. Pin-Lee crossed her arms. Believe me when I said that I’ll win this case.
I felt the muscles on my face do something in answer to the emotion I was suddenly feeling. I was glad I had chosen to keep facing the wall instead of sitting in the very comfortable chair facing Pin-Lee.
I was also glad she was on my side. (My threat assessment module agreed.)
I’ll see you soon, Pin-Lee said, standing up. Don’t do anything stupid in the meantime.
I’m not a human. I don’t do stupid things, I said. (It wasn’t true. Having organic parts meant that I was vulnerable to stupidity.)
Once Indah had escorted her outside, I remained alone in my cell once more. And by alone I meant really alone. One of the (many) drawbacks of being imprisoned was that I had no feed access. It had been cut off for security reasons. (Not that I disagreed with the concept, I just hated being on the receiving end of it.) (I could have, you know, retrieved it in an illegal way, but I was determined to stay within the law. I didn’t want to give them anything against me.) I tried to ignore how weird it was making me feel, like I had been dumped on a planet and left behind.
This was boring, even with the Sanctuary Moon episode I was running in the background. I almost wished I had talked with Pin-Lee for longer. Station Security had set up an independent network so prisoners could talk with their visitors, which is what we had been using. Now that she was gone, that network sounded way too silent for my liking. (A bit like any other machine intelligence had been deleted from existence and I was pinging an empty hull.)
And of course, it would have been more comfortable if I had sat in the armchair and watched my episode on the giant screen on the left wall (another item that wasn’t supposed to be in a cell, even a Preservation cell). I was only ignoring it because I knew I was being watched by agents through the cameras, and I was hoping they would feel bad.
I was fully aware that this wasn’t the most mature way to handle the situation, but it didn’t change my mind. I had free will and this was how I intended to use it. (ART would have complained that I was pouting like one of the teenagers it was regularly transporting, but ART wasn’t here because this cell was isolated against outside communications. It was at the docks with its crew, hopefully not planning to blow up the station.) (I had specifically asked Iris to remind it that it wasn’t allowed to do so before going to Station Security and losing access to the feed.)
The episode ended and I started a new one, hoping that Pin-Lee would be quick.
%
Meanwhile, on ART
Iris was sitting in one of the common rooms–the one that was now indicated as Argument Lounge on Peri’s maps, courtesy of SecUnit–trying not to let her worry show. Peri was worried enough for all of them.
I’m not leaving until SecUnit is returned to me, it said for the umpteenth time that day.
“We aren’t going to,” Iris repeated, also for the umpteenth time. She kept her tone soothing. “They won’t keep it for too long, right, Ratthi?”
She turned towards the Preservation man, who was listening to something in the feed, his amiable features drawn for once. She appreciated his being here. He was one of SecUnit’s closest friends, and he already knew about Peri.
“Pin-Lee’s confident she’ll win this case,” he said. “But it’s going to take at least one day.”
It’s too long, Peri said, as if it wasn’t a sentient ship with more patience than any of them. Why isn’t it hacking Station Security? It should be easy for it, even with its poor processing power.
The jab sounded melancholic, as if Peri didn’t draw as much pleasure in making fun of its friend without SecUnit here to get offended.
“It promised not to,” Ratthi said. He sounded like he wished that SecUnit hadn’t.
To be fair, Iris wished the same. Peri wouldn’t be half as anxious if it could communicate with its friend, and Iris would also be reassured. She hated the idea of SecUnit being imprisoned by some of the few people it actually trusted.
It’s being stupid. If it does things right, the humans won’t even notice, Peri said quite petulantly.
Iris hid her smile at the snarky reply, as did Ratthi.
“That’s not the point, Peri,” Seth said.
Iris didn’t know whether her father was more concerned about the fact Peri considered breaking promises was fair game if you weren’t caught, or relieved that his ship hadn’t threatened to harm the station or the planet yet.
Peri ignored its captain and opened its private channel with Iris.
I don’t understand, it complained to her. It doesn’t like being cut from the feed. Its tone was both concerned and a little whiny, like there was anything Iris could do about it.
Their visit to Preservation Station had started like every other time. SecUnit had visited its friends, attended as many art performances as it could, and the rest of the crew had relaxed in this place that the corporates hadn’t grabbed yet.
She still wasn’t sure how SecUnit had managed to end up in custody, but she hoped it would be released soon, before Peri changed its mind about the whole non-threatening thing.
“Pin-Lee was allowed to see it. Its cell is comfortable, even though it has decided to keep standing and staring at the wall,” Ratthi said, blinking as if he had just ended his feed communication.
Iris felt Peri’s agitation at this.
I told you, it told her privately. It’s upset. It should stop being stupid and hack its way out of it. I can protect it when it’s onboard me.
Peri, if SecUnit wanted to run away, it would have, she said. We have to be patient.
I’m more patient than all of you combined, Peri replied. It waited. Maybe you could convince it?
Iris thought about it, as if encouraging your security consultant to break the law was a good idea. I don’t think I will be allowed to visit it.
Peri paused. Family members can be granted visitation rights by Preservation law to ensure a prisoner’s emotional well-being, it recited. It can apply to crew members.
Iris wondered what SecUnit would think of this formulation.
Are you talking to Pin-Lee? she asked.
Yes. Will you do it?
Iris would have agreed even without the begging note in Peri’s tone–something she knew it very rarely did.
Of course.
%
Murderbot's cell
I was still standing when Indah came back. She must have taken a rest period, because she looked slightly less tired than before. Her face was still indicating deep unhappiness. (I almost pitied her co-workers.)
“You have a visitor,” Indah said. “Your lawyer managed to give her clearance for this visit.”
I briefly wondered if it was Mensah. It would be surprising. Pin-Lee had told me that Mensah had to stay away from the case so she wouldn’t be accused of favoritism, with her being a political leader and all.
It wasn’t Mensah.
“Hi, SecUnit,” Iris said.
I immediately pointed almost all of my drones at her. The scans reported that she was tired but fine. I felt the sudden urge to confirm this with my own eyes, and I barely resisted it.
“I hope you’re doing well. Our common friend is very, very concerned about you,” Iris said, her tone slightly accusatory.
I was suddenly glad she couldn’t see my face. I knew ART must be worrying about me, and I knew it would be annoyed that it couldn’t reach me. It must be pestering Iris (who was its favorite human) about it.
“I have no desire to be here,” I pointed out the obvious, just in case she had forgotten. I managed to sound only slightly rude about it.
I was already being rude to her by turning my back on her. While I was still resenting Indah for arresting me, and Pin-Lee and I had included rudeness in our relationship since day one, Iris didn’t deserve it.
“I know.”
Unlike Pin-Lee, Iris hadn’t been allowed inside my cell, so she was still standing. My drones showed her rubbing her forehead, and I felt the urge to contact ART and ask it for medical advice.
(I might have been overreacting. It’s something that happens sometimes with specific clients.)
As a token of my goodwill towards her, I turned around and faced her, fixing a point near her head.
“Tell it to be patient. They actually have a justice system here, and Pin-Lee said she could prove the accusation is false.”
Iris nodded as she pinged me on the room’s feed. As it was cut from the rest of the world, no asshole research transport would be able to listen to our exchange, nor pester me about my decision to stay here until Pin-Lee had used her jurist CombatUnit skills to clean my name. I tried to convince myself I was fine with that.
I promised Peri I would give you its message, so here it is: ‘Just hack the fucking Security, we still have that one episode to watch and you know I hate cliffhangers.’
(Never mind. It was still pestering me by proxy.)
My face must have done something, because Iris added, Please know that I respect your decision.
Thank you. I paused, scanning her once more. The scans still said she was fine. You should take some rest, I added nevertheless .
It’s hard when Peri spills its concern all over my feed, Iris said. It’s not your fault, of course. I’m sorry you have to be here in the first place. I wish I could help you.
I debated using a drone to catch a picture of my face, and decided I didn’t want to know.
It’s not your fault if people want to frame the SecUnit instead of taking responsibility for themselves, I told her, because I hated the fact that she felt like she couldn’t do enough. It really wasn’t her fault if I was in yet another human-created mess, and her obvious worry made me feel an emotion I didn’t want to feel. (I don’t want to feel emotions in general, but it’s worse when it involves my clients.) (Especially clients I don’t hate.)
I decided that even though she couldn’t help me, I could help her by getting ART off her back. Could you give ART a message?
Iris perked up, as if she had feared I wouldn’t answer ART’s message at all. Of course.
Before I could change my mind, I encrypted my message in a video clip from Worldhoppers (the one where one of the crew members is pestering their friend because they believe she’s sick, even though she’s fine) and sent it to Iris.
I’ll deliver it to Peri as soon as I’ll be out of here, she promised. Take care, SecUnit.
I pointedly ignored that last part. Iris didn’t seem to be bothered by my lack of answer if I believed the smile she addressed my drones before leaving. (I believed it. Iris had several smiles, not all of them genuine and a few almost as terrifying as my best impression of a rogue SecUnit on a murder rampage, but this one was sincere.)
As soon as she left the cell, I went back to staring silently at my wall.
I felt the ping 125 seconds later. I acknowledged it, and 0.2 seconds later ART was in my feed.
You didn’t need to add this many warnings, it said. I know how to be subtle.
My shoulders immediately relaxed. My performance reliability increased by 7%. (It’s a lot when I’m not being repaired.)
Your number one strategy is about using your firepower, I said. That’s not subtle.
You might have noticed that this station is still in one piece.
It better remain that way, I warned it.
ART was making itself at home and using my drones’ inputs to get a full view of my cell.
Ratthi was right. It really is comfortable. Why don’t you use that furniture? I know how much you like to sit.
I didn’t answer that. Like I have already said, sitting on human furniture was soothing, and I wanted to stay angry.
Stop sulking. Your humans are trying to be nice.
It showed me a view of the cameras in the next room. Agents Farid and Tifany were sitting morosely at their desk, keeping an eye on the video of my cell.
They arrested me, I pointed out.
They’re being stupid, like humans and constructs can be, ART said. At least you finally saw reason. Maybe there is hope for you after all.
I promised I wouldn’t hack Station Security and I didn’t, I countered.
It wasn’t even a lie. Technically it wasn’t me who had done the hacking, it was ART. The fact I had given it detailed instructions about how to do so, as much as the passwords and codes required, was irrelevant.
I was feeling much better than I had since receiving Indah’s message, so I decided that there was no point in continuing to stand up. I sat in the armchair and connected to the screen. 1.3 second later, it was displaying the next episode of the series ART and I were currently watching.
(If I watched Farid and Tifany relax through the cameras, and if my performance reliability increased by another 2%, nobody had to know.)
23 hours later, Pin-Lee had shred the accusations to pieces and I was back onboard ART with several more precredited cards and an official apology. Indah had smiled as she had led me out of my cell, and I had refrained from addressing her any snarky remarks. (I had also refrained from telling her she needed another rest period, even though she obviously did.)
I didn’t know how exactly Pin-Lee had achieved it and I didn’t want to watch the recordings, so I just made it back to ART and my private cabin. I intended to pretend I didn’t exist for a while, but the humans kept pinging me in the feed and I didn’t want them to worry. (My humans are too soft for their own good.) Then I received a VIP invitation to a theater performance, and I realized that one parent of the adolescent human I had helped was a part-time actor.
I decided that it would be a shame to let it go to waste, and that both Iris and Ratthi might appreciate coming with me. It wasn’t about a space ship hurting its crew, either, so I granted ART its request to ride my feed during it.
On our way to meet Ratthi in the station, Iris suddenly broke the comfortable silence. I felt the muscles of my back tense slightly. (Humans have a knack to ask awkward questions at the worst possible times.)
“I don’t know and I don’t want to know what was in that message,” Iris said. “But thank you.”
“I didn’t do anything,” I lied.
ART didn’t deny. It was pretending to be busy with diagnostics.
Iris smiled. “Just so you know, what you didn’t do did wonders on Peri.”
I have no idea what you’re talking about, ART told us both.
Iris’ smile widened, and I relaxed.
It’s always good to know there are humans I can count on for important tasks, like getting me out of prison or annoying ART. (Not that I can’t do both by myself, but it’s nice that I don’t have to.)
As we met with Ratthi and I received a ping from Mensah saying that she had cleared her agenda to hang out with me tomorrow, I decided that existing had its advantages after all.